Welcome to Stockholm !
by Dinadette
Summary: Rey is quite relieved that, at least, no one in the First Order is attempting anything uncouth. Or is she? Rating for themes and possible triggers. Gals, never settle for a guy who doesn't care! Second and THIRD chapter Added out of cruelty! OMG the rating, what happened? ;) Fourth chapter is the answer. (title obviously a reference to the syndrome)
1. Chapter 1

Rey can read his mind, or at least she can sometimes. He has some great defenses built, probably due to Ren's presence. Still she never found anything that should or would worry her as a woman there. As a rebel, as an enemy, she knows he is ruthless - his interrogations prove the same. But there has been no disturbing thought, no up and down, no why not… And this, at least, had been a relief.

Rey is used to men. On Jakku already, especially when drunk. Even in the Resistance, some seemed to have difficulties taking no for an answer. They weren't violent, it was more about heavy handed seduction and insisting. Still they - Poe - would tell her of how evil this General Hux was and over days, weeks, months of captivity, he had never attempted anything. She had been more uncomfortable around some of her friends on that topic.

Maybe she wouldn't have expected brutal force from him - not his style? - but who could have been surprised at bribe or blackmail? She had feared it and almost expected it. There would have been thousands occasions. A hand trailing, just a little bit, when she was cold. A deal when she couldn't just take it anymore. A tear wiped off, caressing her cheek, her lip… But no. It is good though, because she isn't sure what she would do now.

She wondered, at first in disgust and fear, how that would feel, how he would look. She still wonders differently. She still shivers but not in the same way. It is good she is the force sensitive one though he is nothing if not a reader of minds. Her gaze follows his form sometimes, and he must think she is scared she is - of him - of herself… He bends toward her as he tries to get her to talk an umpteenth time. He smells good, some perfume or cologne or however they call it. She isn't used to men wearing that, hardly women… His eye lashes are much too long, lighter than gold, and his mouth is a womanly pink, too sensual for a First Order officer in her mind. His eyes she knows to avoid because she would drown there, drown and die and then…

She almost hopes he will act on whatever this is, because then she will know whether she can betray her own people, and if what she has dreamed of his real. If she is lucky, she will find it in herself to push him away, slap his perfect skin, bite his rosy lips until they bleed crimson… She will not be the one reaching out to his perfect hair - how does it stay that way? - or put her small hand on his knee, expecting… She shudders, disgusted with herself. _You hate him, remember._

She is only hurting herself, he says, as she refuses to talk still. She is used to this. His voice, her silence, the way she watches him and he doesn't, the way sometimes, occasionally, too often still, she can't help and she allows herself to gorge on the view, to enjoy his gem like eyes. She is so very cold a man's lips, a man's arms, could only help. His skin would be softer than hers, so much paler, but already he's leaving the room. There is no way he would want her, ignorant and skinny and ugly and very much the style he would reject even if she was the last woman in the galaxy. The idea used to be a comfort but now she is balling her fists, hating him for all the wrong reasons. Not a glance toward her even as she breathes fast, her breasts swaying under the wave, a genocidal gentleman. For the first time she thinks this may be torture, too. Not for the first time she thinks talking may free her of all this.

My General, she mouthes in the dark. Her nails leave red crescents in her tawny skin. _You hate him, remember?_ It's a question now. He doesn't see her like a woman. He doesn't see her. In the dark she cannot even see herself. She is only hurting herself like this, he said. If only he knew how right he is and how right it feels.


	2. Chapter 2

Once again he is expecting answers that she won't give.

"Why would I speak?", she asks, almost genuinely curious about how he explains this to himself, because it makes no sense. Wasted time, efficiency would dictate her be removed, or at the very least something very drastic be tried.

"I saved your life. You are mine now". It sounds so easy in his mouth, and so obvious. He would shrug if he was that man.

"Is the First Order into that whole tribal thing? I thought you guys were more advanced or Something". She taunts him because the idea bothers her. Or rather, because her reaction to it bothers her.

"I said you belong to me, not to the First Order". That equal, patrician tone again. He could be lecturing.

"You said you _were_ the First Order", she insists. He frowns and doesn't reply.

Somehow they discuss this again, another day, or is it a night? She has no idea. She may well never see the sun again, breathe that stale atmosphere forever and grow as pale and unnatural as him. She may well never see any other human again.

"What about all those you… killed?", she asks.

He looks down to her interrogatively. This time he didn't even sit pacing around in a way that she doesn't think is exactly professional. He doesn't wince at the word. It is harder for her to mention his victims than it is for him to hear of them.

"What about them?", he repeats, unsure suddenly why he bothers. It used to be about intel but has stopped being so a long time ago. And still. He is there.

"Do they belong to you too?".

"Oh". It is clear he has never pondered, never cared. "I suppose, yes, in a way, but they're not as useful as the living".

She thinks it may be an attempt at some cynical, dark humour, but maybe not.

"You are fascinated with that idea of belonging, aren't you scavenger?". He smirks. It amuses him, and she hates the way he refers to her.

"My name is Rey", she protests, frowning.

"Are you even sure about that?", he taunts. "You would know all about belonging or not… You don't even have a surname, for force's sake! I thought it was a mistake when I first perused your file - I mean, no surname? No mention of parents? How is that even a thing?". He laughs, openly, maybe for the first time in years. She would be delighted if not for the fact that he had chosen her own misery as laughingstock. This isn't even a war declaration, he just doesn't care enough to take it seriously.

"While you grew up in a manor with ancestors portraits and family trees" she says bitterly, trying suddenly to imagine how her grandparents looked.

"Something like that". He doesn't brag as much as she would have thought. Nowhere near as much.

"With a nanny droid and a retired military father and… stuff?".

"Something like that". He looks like a cross of nostalgic and hardened.

"And this allows you to look down on others? How did you get like that?", she asks, not caring that it is insane to antagonize the man who holds her life, her death, her whole destiny, in his gloved hands. "Did mommy not like you? Did she cry at night thinking you would turn out just like you did?".

He pounces on her and stops just before contact, as if realizing what he is about to do. She knows fear for the first time in a long while. His eyes shine madly. He must have looked that way as they destroyed a solar system under his order, she thinks.

"Seven hells aren't you lucky that you are not a man…", he whispers, because if he didn't he would scream, for the first time in years also.

"Where would the fun be in that", she offers, still provoking, sounding so much more worldly than she is.

"Indeed", he replies. His gaze is suddenly roaming over the face and youthful curves. His eyes are still shining, but with a different intent. He inhales sharply and seems to remember where they are, who they are, and backs down.

He shouldn't touch her. Not like he even noticed her gender, anyway. He cannot touch her, not even in anger - especially not. Things never end well when a Hux loses control over some low life female. Oh how he knows. It is safer to retreat and remain under the protection of their usual scenario. It was a mistake already to discuss this, of all things. He wonders if the Force supplied her with insight about his previous education, or if she is perceptive enough - she is a Survivor. She would have done well at the Academy, barring the temper and issues with authority. He stifles a chuckle at the idea.

"Had I known I just had to mention your lack of surname, I wouldn't have bothered with the droids", he says as if he hadn't been the one losing his cool. She shivers at the mention of torture droids, nauseated. She wishes she could erase those days - weeks, months ? - from her memory. He sees her reaction and rolls his eyes, long suffering. Willingly or not, he projects the image of an older man, looking quite like him otherwise, claiming that one couldn't use properly something one hadn't experimented, and then the pain, blinding, stomach turning, blood curling. He was so young the first time he called for his mother, but soon knew better. It takes her a few seconds to figure out that his own father put him in that situation, and it dawns on her that Imperial aristocracy or not, General Hux cannot change, will not change, because he doesn't disagree with this. It makes him easier to hate, she prays.

When she recovers from the blow impacted by the memory, he is sitting in his chair, smoking a cigarra and looking at her without seeing her, almost as if she was see through and that's how she feels. Rey might have met someone with a more miserable childhood than hers, and though he was rich beyond imagination to a Jakku girl and never lacked, she can't envy him. Later - at night probably, because mercifully someone turned on most of the lighting - in her mind's eye, she can see his pink, plush lips around the stick, and she sighs, too tired to not fall asleep with this on her mind. The phantom pain of the torture chases her through disturbing dreams. She hopes she never cries out his name, and that if she does, he is calling for her too.

As long as she could hate him as he deserved, she could tell herself that her odd obsession meant nothing. But now that she almost feels sad for him - when she fails to remind herself he is General Hux - it is dangerously close to something both Jedis and the Empire look down on. She almost wishes he would have forced himself on her long ago, killing any possibility of fantasy or curiosity, because she would have known the taste of his kisses, the sound of his voice calling her name in that posh accent of his. She wants to mess up his perfect hair, mess up his perfect life, be the one to hurt him, comfort him. Be the one. Attachment, passion, obsession, the Sith used to thrive on that. What does that make her?

She forgets, but when he shows up again she has to fight the need to smile at him and she remembers.

"I don't belong with… to you", she says out of the blue.

"Well then. As you say, girl". He doesn't care. She wants to bite his lip until his insolent smile disappears.

"But you'll be back anyway?". He doesn't reply to this, but reaches for her. Maybe it is an answer.

Rey doesn't even think it could all be planned, her downfall, his gloved hand on her shoulder and the burn she feels there, even through all the layers of clothing and material. He circles around her, a smirk on his handsome features though his jade eyes are deathly serious, and she struggles to not lose sight of him for all kinds of reasons. Of course he doesn't want her, has no need of her, not even as an umpteenth prisoner. She tastes blood and realizes she bit the inside of her cheek instead of savaging him. This is how revenge should taste like but for now? It is bitter like defeat.

"I really, really hate you", she announces. She doesn't recognize her own voice. But she knows she could have said another word than hate and it would have been true, too.

"Good". His answer is clipped and unemotional, stunted. His hand grazes down her arm and grabs, just the right of painful. She gasps more at the intensity. There is strength in hate, in pain, she knows. This is quite far from the Jedi peace, but for now it would have to do because she has an endless supply of them while the Resistance is making itself quite scarce.

She closes her eyes because she doesn't think she can cling to those if she has his face smack in front of her eyes. His eyes like a bottomless lake, his hair like the sun he deprived her of, she screams inside the Force but there is no one there either. Her eyes still closed, she feels weak and light headed as when she first pictured his lips. Or perhaps it is simply her body giving up, exhaustion and misery catching up with her. Loneliness. _I can't I can't I can't_. If he asked her to speak now she probably would, just because…

She has no answer to that, or to why she doesn't bite or put up a fight when warm, supple lips find hers. She startles and opens her eyes, as if to make sure it is really him, really happening. It is. She doesn't understand why he does this after telling her to hate him. She doesn't understand why she still doesn't resist. Rey is old enough to know the difference between a fantasy and actually allowing it to take place. There is nothing right about getting her first kiss with General Hux in an interrogation cell, and everything wrong about taking his mouth when he finally breaks contact. Yet she does so almost aggressively, not really attempting to hurt but certainly not caring if she does. He tries to silence a sound that goes straight to an area of her body she rarely thinks about. She stares, not allowing him the comfort of thinking she didn't notice. It could still be pity, or manipulation, though with every moment she is doubting this more - but she doesn't give a damn.

"My General", she whispers without meaning to, against his lips, and she will analyze later - ideally never - why she feels at peace at the moment.


	3. Chapter 3

There is no way this could have happened in any normal situation. She knows it, and she knows he knows. If it is a game changer, she isn't sure. It cannot happen again that much is certain.

Maybe there is something in the food, in the water, in the very air she breathes constantly, that turns her into… that. Cuts her off from the force, as if no one could hear or cared to. Makes her cling to whatever comfort she can find… A stormtrooper's not too nasty teasing, a bit more food than usual - a mistake, probably, she is happy about a mere mistake, the General's arms. And if this isn't a cold comfort and a mistake… It should freeze her in terror, in horror. It shouldn't burn or maybe in anger. She shouldn't be left touching her lip and reliving the scene in her mind, shivering and fearing to find out what would have happened had he tried to take more.

She hates that she doesn't know. She hates to call him a gentleman even inwardly because he didn't. In a hyper rational way, she can understand that she would latch onto any man who wouldn't threaten her. She has never seen him drunk and doubt he would - can - lose control. He appears as refined as he is dangerous and somehow she sees only the externals when he is around, only remembers the rest - billions of victims, and he doesn't regret a thing - when he isn't in her face with his impeccable uniform, his perfect hair and his patrician features. And his cologne. So different from the men she grew up around. She inhales as if she could still smell him and maybe she can.

Rey doesn't want to believe they would really sneak something, drug her. It is a classic and she has no reason to trust the Starkiller. She closes her eyes as hard as she can, trying to escape the thoughts. She doesn't try to convince herself that she hates him this time. Once again she considers that maybe her friends are on their way. They will save her, mostly from herself. They will even forgive her for reciprocating his kiss and dying a little at his reaction. Dying... Yes, they will have to hurt him. Leave him for dead, or take him as a prisoner and execute him for the whole galaxy to watch. She can feel something twist and turn in her guts, as a knife. She can picture this much too clearly. This cannot be a vision, a possible path. He has been her light in the darkness, even if he happened to be the darkest thing she ever encountered. Rey will not be that slightly older version of herself she can sense discovering him shot on the cold ground, or screaming as they take him away. There is something extremly disturbing about her. Finn's gaze full of pity, disgust, disdain, sheer and utter inability to relate interrupt her reflexion. It is but a vision but it makes her hide her face inside her palms. There is a side of herself who still thinks just alike. Yet she is angry at the judgment. They don't know. They don't know how it was in here, in the deep space where no man should dwell, only in the cold, dark space. She will not justify herself even to her own mind.

The other Rey is back on the forefront, wearing a dress the scavenger would never select. She should be ridiculous in it but she isn't. She thinks she is disturbed by the amount of jewelry. How many villages on Jakku could survive on them? Her whole mannerism is different at least in appearance. Maybe the Rey-but-not-Rey is different enough to safely wonder - what kind of relationship does a woman have with a man to react that way to his demise? The real, actual Rey isn't innocent enough anymore to assume this starts and stops at first kisses. She inhales slowly, tells herself she is not jealous of a mere vision of her own person, and goes on to wish the force would reveal to her what exactly transpired between older-Rey and the General. She thinks such a man must know what he is doing and immediately resents those undignified thoughts as her cheeks burn bright. This isn't her. Anyway the scene shifts, changes. Her eyes narrow when she takes in the lightsaber at the ornate belt. Ridiculous. There is no way she would be trusted with that. Finn, again. She doesn't like the superposition, what it hints toward.

Fear is replaced with horror when almost at the same time - the other-Rey initiates, but she doesn't want to see it - the lightsaber ignites while Finn is holding a blaster. He stands no chance. Still he hesitates because it is Rey and only when his eyes fall to the hand holding the saber does he gasp and exclaim "Harlot". He never brings himself to shoot and her expression never changes. Real Rey sobs as he falls down and quiets down in shock when she notices the ring, a _band_ on that hand, bearing the symbol of the First Order. _Nononononowhathehellisthat_.

Rey asked the Force what was going on between herself and Hux. This was the Dark Side's answer, taunting and cruel and real. Whatever was blocking her from accessing the force seems gone. Maybe it was a kindness though. She looked down to her own hand as if wondering whether she should cut it off before finding it adorned. It doesn't solve the Finn problem. _He said he would kill Hux he said he would it's not her/my fault_

 _You have some time to get ready, but not that long either, child. Better get training_.

"Who is there?", she asks, hysterical, but there is no one. She doesn't want to start having crises like Kylo Ren and has no idea why she compares herself to him.

She stands without meaning to, on shaking legs, and starts pacing. She must be waiting for him already even though he won't show up before hours. She cannot say what the future will bring. She knows she would die for her friends, and maybe in the end she will. It doesn't bother her immensely. What she witnessed about Finn tore her heart apart but a similar fate for the General would destroy her whole. If a choice is given - she'll take the second scene. She knows she would kill for him and maybe in the end she will, too. It will be a certainty next time she sees his face. It doesn't bother her enough to create any doubt in her mind even now.


	4. Chapter 4

There is no way this could have happened in any normal situation. He knows it, and he knows she knows. If it is a game changer, he isn't sure. It cannot happen again that much is certain.

And actually it won't, he tells himself as he enters the cell, pushing the door open and owning the place. It used to be a show, now it is simply what comes naturally. He does own the place, and everything - everyone - inside. She immediately turns to face him, the way she moves too quick and controled for comfort.

"You are here?", she asks. He frowns. Isn't that obvious? Or is she a victim of those so called force visions already?  
"As you see", he replies coldly. He doesn't want to think about those.

"But...". She stops there. Whatever she witnessed, she won't share. Maybe it is better for the both of them. Or perhaps she is just puzzled at him visiting her in her cell instead of having her brought to interrogation. This explanation is rational - it sounds good.

He looks around. There is nowhere normal to sit. He didn't think of that when he decided a change in scenery would be welcome to get her to talk. Or to forget about the previous incident(s)/accident(s). He chooses to sit on the makeshift bed, cringing for an instant as he does. It is quite uncomfortable, potentially unsanitary, though he has known not much better at the Academy. Rey stares at him in wonder. He doesn't like how it has to look, the General of the First Order in her personal space, sitting on her bed. Though at least it means she has come to utterly accept that this cell is her new home, this almost tender gaze disturbs him.

She approaches slowly as if she still didn't believe he was really there. He thinks she is going to sit on the bed or even, crazily, on his lap. But no, she kneels in front of him and he cannot hide his shock. She giggles at it, not expecting the General to be that sensitive.  
"You kissed me", she says, as if justifying that this is nothing.

He forces himself not to avoid her eyes and he hates that his cheeks burn. He still has found no way to avoid this. He keeps his face and his mind guarded but this he can do nothing about.  
"I did no such thing. I just arrived barely one minute ago".  
She doesn't reply, because of course he knows what she is talking about.

"I saw you", she says, searching for something in his eyes. She is too serious for it to mean something very good. He really, really doesn't want to know. Whatever it is, it is madness. There is no reason to concern himself with it. She brings her small hands to his knees but there is nothing seductive about the gesture. "But this is not happening". She is shivering now and if he didn't know better he would say that he feels a warm wave unleashed through the small room. He recoils on an instinct, his back soon reaching the cold wall. The bed is narrower than he thought. Prisoners have better not be bulky. Prison food would take care of that.

"I said it's not happening. Don't be afraid", she says, kneading at his knees. He should put an end to it.  
"I am afraid of nothing". The Force may be the closest thing, though he likes to think it's just common sense instinct to stay the hell away. From Ren, from the Supreme Leader impossible as it is, and from _her_.  
"Right...", she smirks, looking and sounding years older in the twinkling of an eye. He realizes she has grown much too close, though he doesn't know when it happened. She is kneeling between legs that he doesn't remember parting. Hux tells himself the Force has nothing to do with it. No, if she was that strong already she would order him to open the door and let her out, not…

She looks up to him, to his mouth actually, and it undoes him a little.  
"Get up", he scolds, trying to sound unaffacted. Annoyed. Bored.  
When she refuses to obey, he grabs her slim wrists. His gloved hand encompasses both of them.  
"Get away from me, prisoner". Meaner now. But she just smiles and he knows what she is going to say even without being a mind-reader.  
"But you kissed me".

He tries to get her up but she seems to weigh a ton and he releases her because the contact makes it worse. Something has happened overnight, some disturbing change in her. He presses his back into the wall as if he could disappear. She doesn't appear threatening though when her right hand finds his cheek and she stretches toward him.  
"I saw you and you were dead", she whispers, almost against his lips. He resists an urge to push her off of him, or to kiss her. _Shut up_.  
"So much blood, so much red blood". Her lips are red too. His cheeks must be now. She speaks of war but it sounds erotic in the moment.  
"I killed him", she adds. He understands quickly she doesn't mean him, the Hux in her vision. Still, he needs confirmation. Even though treating insanity seriously is not the right thing to do. Neither is snaking an arm around her waist and dragging her hard against him when she replies that she killed the man who threatened him.

He tries to calm down, tells himself certainly this tiny girl couldn't save him if he couldn't handle a threat himself. And yet… her eyes tell him otherwise and so does his instinct, jarring as it is. Because he does trust his instinct as much as his rationality, or almost.

He blames his inappropriate gesture on an attempt not to alienate her. Still he wishes she wasn't breathing so fast, her bosom squashed against his torso.  
"You don't believe me… But you will…". She is out of breath but she doesn't let go of his cheek and she tries to get closer even, moulding against him. He can feel her flat stomach against his and they join lower too. He reacts in horror to that contact.

"No, don't", he asserts as best as he can. If he lacks motivation it is almost impossible to hear. She hears it. Or she doesn't care. He ponders that those words have probably never been pronounced by an officer in that cell. If someone did, it had to be a prisoner. Though he disapproves, finding it a waste of time and debasing, he knows some use that kind of interrogation techniques. Maybe they all need a reminder they are not touch prisoners like this. Including himself. Because whatever seems to happen just now, the sheer discrepancy in power, freedom, age, everything, makes it closer to rape than he can tolerate. He might have turned a blind eye on occasion, when literally nothing else was having an effect - but he doesn't stoop that low. Regular torture should be enough. _This is dirty, unneeded, a dishonor, a degrading abuse of_...

"Looking for excuses, my General?", she asks and all but giggles; he hates her for prodding into his thoughts. For having the upper hand somehow against one of the two or three - that remains up for discussion and debate - most powerful men in the galaxy. She cannot want what she is implying she wants. She is playing with him, riling him up, or immaturely oblivious.

"This is no game. Remove yourself". His tone is severe, probably not enough.  
"You're not letting me", she offers too sweetly. He remembers his arm around her waist. _Kriff_. She laughs. She had to be in his mind again, and she is laughing at him, he tells himself because anger would be a better response than arousal. Everything else would be.

Anger is there now, but unfortunately arousal remains. The combination is heady, deadly. He regrets doing it as soon as he starts, but he sends her flying onto the bed, lending on her back. She is still laughing. He climbs on top of her on instinct and she finally stops. Their eyes meet and they don't move.

"Last opportunity to stop this. Last way out, Rey. Take it". He sounds overwhelmed. "Tell me to stop this. Call for help. You don't know what you are asking for". Not that his men would intervene. But the tiny chance of one of them coming in would certainly stop him. "Tell me to stop…". He is all but begging. She grabs at his jacket and she neither pushes him off nor brings him closer. He realizes she is making sure it is real. Bracing herself for the next step. She is accepting, welcoming, what he still thinks he cannot do to her. Why and how does she not see it as a disgrace?

"It is meant to happen. It is bigger than us…". Her voice is so so… juvenile. And _she said us_ … Since when is there an "us" for the orphaned scavenger who grew up in the desert and the First Order leader from a venerable lineage hailing from a rainy planet? She closes her eyes. Her hand on his neck, she brings him closer not for a kiss as he thinks he fears but so their foreheads meet. The visions bother him just as much as he thought. They evocate all kinds of uncomfortable concepts. Feelings. He cannot die. Not without an heir, certainly. Goodness that band on her finger, the way she tears through the traitor… She exhudes power and Hux is never the type to say no to that. It is over as suddenly as it started.

They are looking at each other again and the general Hux knows he doesn't have much motivation left to keep away. She gently bucks up against him and he isn't surprised he reacts to it. It doesn't prevent him from hating himself. He tries to remember all the reasons it wouldn't be so wrong. She is asking for it, literally. She won't stop before he gives in. Her life belongs to him. He kissed her already. No one is going to know it if he leaves that wretched cell with the scavenger's virtue… He thinks of her taunting gaze, of that mindview of himself dead on the floor, covered in blood. If it is meant to be, he is going to take everything he can before, and enjoy it.

The way Rey is staring up at him makes her more predator than prey and it unsettles him. It frightens him, it is that or running away so he tells himself she is ripe for the taking. She seems to be nodding at the thought and they both go for it, lips meeting in a sob of relief. He is so hard every move hurts but he can't help rubbing against her anyway.

"So this is what you wanted?", he breaks the kiss to ask, half scolding half hoping. Was it her wanting it? That Force demanding? Does it matter? "I do not think I can stop now", a warning and a promise. She sneaks her hand between them and she touches him, seeking more. She'd better not change her mind because there is no way he is even considering stopping now. His green eyes appear unhinged and troubled, he doesn't notice the strand of red hair escaping the strict order of the gel even when literally in front of his eyes. It takes some time for her to fiddle with the buttons. He doesn't help her but he kisses her again so he doesn't make any embarrassing noise when her hand finds his skin, obliterating most thoughts. _It is meant to be_ , he manages to think at last, so why resist? She will be so pretty in First Order jewelry.


End file.
